


Your Wicked Games

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2010)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Beating, Bondage, Caning, Chains, Confined/Caged, Dominance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gags, Hoods, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding Crop, Slavery, Strapping, Submission, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Professor and his Sebastian take a weekend off to indulge in their dark games of dominance and submission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the brilliant [tiger_moran](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/), firstly for inspiring me with his fantastic fiction for this pairing, and secondly for allowing me to use the idea of the Professor's cellar playroom in this story.

"It appears that we shall have the house to ourselves this weekend, Colonel."

Sebastian cocks his head at the Professor; it is most unlike him, nowadays, to refer to him by his army honourific.

"Sir?"

"Yes. Cook is away visiting her sister in Surrey, and I have given the rest of the staff an ad hoc weekend holiday until first thing Monday morning. We shall be quite alone, the two of us."

"I'll wager they was all cock a hoop at that, eh, Sir? Unexpected holidays? So what've they done to deserve that?"

The Professor smiles. "It was more a question of what _we_ might have done to deserve it, Sebastian. We have both, in the last weeks, been engaged in working quite assiduously to ensure that my latest stratagem proceeds sans difficulties, hmmm? I decided that a weekend of privacy might be exactly what we both needed. _Utter_ privacy, chick, to allow us to play one of our games?"

Sebastian swallows, his cock twitching immediately in anticipation. "Sir? Oh yes, indeed, Sir. What did you 'ave in mind in particular, Sir?"

Moriarty cups one hand behind Sebastian's head, his thumb stroking at his ear. "In anticipation, my dove, I arranged for some new, rather _interesting_ , items to be delivered here whilst you were up in town earlier in the week. Why don't we explore them together, and then the game will become clear?" He pauses, and then kisses Sebastian, just the lightest brush of his lips against those of his marksman, almost chaste really, yet the brief connection sends an electric shock of arousal through Sebastian. He nods, and follows the Professor, his heart racing and his pulse pounding.

-O-

They descend to Moriarty's playroom in the cellar. Sebastian is of course familiar with the large, sturdy, double bed, and with the solid table affixed to the floor, with its myriad points of restraint. But in addition, today, there is a metal cage in the corner, its bars formed apparently of solid iron, large enough to house a substantial hound. Or a man. The manacles, chains and collars heaped at its side also suggest a canine inhabitant rather than a human one, but a quick glance at the Professor's face leaves Sebastian in no doubt as to the likely occupant of the cage in their weekend game.

Moriarty sits on the luxurious sofa, leaning back, and crossing his legs. "Kneel, if you please, Colonel, whilst we discuss your treatment this weekend."

Sebastian drops to his knees immediately before the Professor, hands clasped behind his back and head slightly bowed. "We have a somewhat unusual relationship, do we not, Colonel? Whilst I would perhaps be the first to acknowledge that, of the two of us, you are the stronger and the more proficient in the skill of overcoming and subduing an enemy, you defer to me in every respect, even when such deference leaves you in pain or humiliation. And yet, you do not leave me; no, to the contrary, you return to me repeatedly for more of the same. You _crave_ the punishments and indignities I confer upon you, if the prodigious hardening of your _cock_ which accompanies such treatment is to be believed.

And I, for my own part, _relish_ what I do to you. You suffer so very beautifully, my dove. Your screams and moans and tears excite me in a way that does not seem, perhaps, quite _right_ for a civilised man to be excited. Yet we are both civilised men and our _unusual_ proclivities affect no-one other than ourselves. Therefore I shall feel no shame or remorse for acting in accordance with my appetites, and shall accept no censure from society or organised religion or any damned _law_ for it." 

The Professor seems to be lost in thought, his speech quiet and almost only to himself, rather than to the man kneeling before him. "Sir?" Sebastian tips his head slightly, glancing at Moriarty from below his eyelashes.

"Ah, Moran. Forgive me. I was quite lost in contemplation. The world we men make for ourselves, chick, is sometimes so very illogical and so very inequitable, and yet, to swim against the tide of that illogicality and inequitableness alone is to invite utter destruction upon oneself. But - such is the world. It shall not encroach upon this weekend's games, my dove."

With this, Moriarty sits up and uncrosses his legs. "This weekend, Sebastian, I wish to make you my slave. You are of course already that, in all but name, but you shall experience utter subjugation, in every way imaginable, at my hand for the next two days. If you have any objection to this, voice it now; otherwise your consent to anything I wish to do to you will be assumed from this point on."

Sebastian considers, furiously, the Professor's words. His cock is twitching at the prospect of being totally in the Professor's power all weekend, and he knows him well enough, he thinks, to be sure that whilst Moriarty may hurt and humiliate him in any number of ways, would do nothing to permanently impair his chief of staff. "I accept, Sir. I have no objections."

"Excellent! Then we shall begin with a simple order. Strip, Moran. You will be kept naked from now until the end of our game, unless I say otherwise, every part of your body on display for my pleasure and use. You may leave your clothes on the dresser."

Sebastian removes his clothes efficiently; jacket, waistcoat, tie, collar, braces, shirt, trousers, undershirt, shoes, socks and undergarments, and folds them neatly before placing them aside. He stands, totally naked, before Moriarty, who regards him with an almost cool indifference, running his eyes very obviously down over the pale expanse of chest and stomach, to Sebastian's half erect cock, twitching in its nest of auburn hair.

"Well, well, Sebastian, how very _eager_ you are to be a _slave_ , hmmmm? If it is something that excites you so much, I rather think that your slavery should not be something glibly handed out to you by your owner. I rather think that you should ask - no, _beg_ \- for what you desire."

The Professor motions to his gleaming, immaculately polished, shoes. "Such a cliché, my dove, but so very effective. You shall lick my shoes. Clean them, with your lips and tongue, whilst you beg to be my slave, and tell me what you want your owner to do to you. What you consider _appropriate_ treatment for a slave. Arms behind your back as you lick. Begin"


	2. Chapter 2

It is difficult for Sebastian to lean forward far enough to get his mouth to the Professor's shoes, with his hands behind his back. He manages it eventually, somewhat ungracefully, by holding himself bent over in place with his thigh and stomach muscles, and presses his lips to the polished leather of the Professor's footwear.

"Sir. Sir, please." Sebastian's voice is a mere murmur as he begins to kiss the gleaming upper, the smell of leather and polish mingling with the faint scent of the man sitting above him. He brushes closed lipped, chaste kisses over the leather, from the tip of the toe up to the lace eyelets, all the time murmuring the same litany: "Sir. Sir, please."

"Please what, hmmmm? You shall have to be more specific, chick." Moriarty presses the toe of his other shoe into the side of Sebastian's neck, forcing his face lower, until his cheek is resting against the gleaming upper.

"Sir. Use me, Sir. Hurt me, punish me, _torture_ me, Sir. Fuck me until I'm sore and torn and bleeding. Or don't fuck me, Sir. Leave me moanin' and beggin' to be allowed to come, Sir. Do what you want with me. I am your slave, Sir, and you can do whatever you want to me."

"Very good. Very good, _indeed_. But, have a care, Colonel. Perhaps you should be careful what you wish for, hmmmm? You know my appetites. I _shall_ hurt you, my dove. I _shall_ make you weep, and scream, and beg. And you know that, however much you beg, I shall not desist. On the contrary, your begging and pleading will excite me, and may induce me only to increase your suffering." 

Moriarty presses harder with the sole of his shoe. "Now, my dove, are you sure you want to play this game?"

Sebastian shivers slightly, but nods. "Yes, Sir."

"Very well, then. Back to your licking."

His kissing is more intense, now, more passionate. Sebastian alternates between wet, open mouthed kisses to the shoe's upper, and long sweeps of his tongue, until it is gleaming with saliva. He imagines making love to the leather, sucking and licking, and rubbing his face against it.

"Good boy. But - do not forget the _sole_."

Sebastian is taken aback as Moriarty tips his foot up, so that Sebastian can access the sole of the shoe. "And you may brace yourself on your arms for this; I rather imagine you may have to turn your face against the floor to be able to make a proper job of it."

Face reddening with humiliation, Sebastian does so, tilting his face to the underside of the shoe, and lapping tentatively at the leather. To his relief, whilst the texture of dust and grit, together with the odd carpet or rug fibre, is not exactly pleasant against his tongue, there does not appear to be anything more _distasteful_ on the Professor's shoe.

Once he is sure that the sole is as gleaming wet as the upper, he reaches up to take to tip of the toe into his mouth. Now he is able to lick and suckle at the leather as loudly and filthily as he can, risking a quick flick of his eyes upwards to glance at his Master as he does so. If the Professor's expression and quickness of breath are anything to go by, he is quite profoundly affected by the sight and sound of his marksman kneeling naked on the floor before him, practically sucking the leather from his shoe.

Moriarty moves his foot slightly, pushing Sebastian off. "The other one. Keep your eyes on me."

Sebastian repeats his actions on the other shoe, his eyes never leaving those of his lover, who strokes himself through his trousers quite openly and deliberately as Sebastian suckles and slurps. Moran's cock too is now fully erect, aroused by the effect his submission and humiliation is having on the Professor. He can feel its length hot against his thigh, a thin trickle of precome pooling between his legs.

"Good boy. You may remove my shoes and socks, then lie on your back, your soles on the floor and your legs spread. You may not touch yourself or attempt to rub yourself against your thighs. I want to see your cock twitching between your legs as you attend to my feet."

Sebastian scrambles nearer and kneels at the Professor's feet, delicately untying the thin laces, before carefully lifting one foot and, cupping the heel of the shoe, sliding it gently from his lover's foot. He repeats the motion with the second shoe, and places them neatly to the side. 

He has to slide the trouser legs up from the Professor’s black socks to reach the elastic sock-suspenders below his knees, unclipping them and rolling the socks down, again carefully sliding them over Moriarty's heels and rolling them up to place them neatly into the shoes next to him.

When he is done, Sebastian obediently turns over and pushes himself back so that he is lying on his back with his knees bent, the soles of his feet flat on the floor and his legs spread. The Professor slides the sole of one of his long feet over Sebastian's face, curling his toes into his lips, resting the other foot idly on Sebastian's chest. 

"Lick. Kiss." The command is quiet, but firm.

Sebastian rubs his face against the sole, brushing his nose against the instep, before beginning to lick delicately, working his way to the Professor's toes. He kisses the pad of each of the toes before taking the little one into his mouth, sucking and licking at it as he brings his hands up to massage the sole and arch of the foot with his thumbs and fingers. 

He repeats this with each of the toes, suckling and cleaning between them with his tongue. The Professor is an extremely clean, fastidious man, and so the foot is not dirty; there is only the slight tang of sweat as Sebastian licks and swallows. 

No, the implication behind his actions is of course more symbolic than physical; the act of cleaning another's shoes and feet with one's mouth a level of significance which escapes neither of them. Naked. His penis twitching, desperate for friction, between his spread thighs. He may as well be a damned dog, a fleabitten cur, rubbing itself against its Master's leg, rather than a man. Naked and bestial, panting and rutting, an animal fit only to do its owner's bidding. 

And so, when the Professor presses his toes into Sebastian's mouth, choking him, before whispering, "Up, Sebastian. To your cage", he crawls, cock swaying between his thighs, kneels next to the cage and the metal implements of restraint beside it, and waits.


	3. Chapter 3

The Professor stands over him, ruffling his hair and stroking a hand gently over Sebastian's bearded face. "Good boy," he croons, as he caresses his kneeling marksman. "Now, what shall we have you wear?" Turning his attention to the pile of equipment lying bside the cage, Moriarty sinks down into a crouch, his fingers still sweeping over Sebastian's face and down the long line of his neck, before removing them to rummage through the items at his feet.

The Professor's hand alights on a thick, hand-forged, iron collar with unusual incised detailing. "This looks interesting, hmmmm? What do you think, my dove?" 

The collar is constructed of two hefty, separate, semi-circular pieces of iron, hinged together with a thick iron pin that has a head on either end, preventing the two pieces from separating. The collar, thus, opens and closes at only one end, and appears to be locked and unlocked via a locking mechanism from which protrudes the end of a key. 

Sebastian shifts position, uncomfortably, aware that some form of response appears to be required from him, yet unable to think clearly when confronted with such a brutal piece of equipment, its purpose so simply designed to restrain and humble its wearer.

"Nothing to say, chick? Not even a 'thank you'? No? Well, let me describe it for you. This is a very rare piece of equipment; we civilised denizens of our Majesty's Empire tend no longer to shackle our miscreants with iron collars and manacles. 

The locking mechanism, here, remains quite smooth and is readily operable. It is unlocked by fully inserting the key and slowly turning it to the right until the pin holding the lock in place is released. To lock, one simply reinserts the open hinge into the lock and holds it in place while turning the key to the left. Do you see? Once locked, the collar clearly cannot be removed without the key, or a great deal of time and effort and patient filing. 

I would like you to wear this, Sebastian. The thickness and weight of the collar will, I fancy, help to focus your attention on the other items I have procured for our enjoyment this weekend."

The Professor secures the collar around his neck. It fits more snugly than Sebastian had anticipated, and it is certainly heavy. He will be unable to forget that he is wearing it; it will, as the Professor says, focus his attention solely on his restraints and his sexual submission whilst he wears it.

"Touch yourself, Sebastian. Stroke yourself. Before we finish for now, I want to see your manhood straining for release. That's it - good boy - cup your balls - yes - roll them in your fingers. Close your eyes, my dove. See yourself as I see you, my dangerous, but valuable, highly sexed tiger, collared and soon to be shackled and caged. How I shall make you roar when you climax - but - not yet. Keep yourself on the edge for me, love. That's it, moan and pant and _wait_ for permission."

Sebastian groans, fisting his cock in one hand and squeezing his testicles with the other, unsure of how long he can maintain this action without orgasming. "Please, Sir!"

"No, Sebastian. Desist - now!" It is all that he can do to pull back from the precipice, panting with frustration, almost climaxing despite his need to obey his Master. Sebastian digs the nails of his fingers into his thighs as he breathes deeply, smothering down the impending orgasm.

"Oh, good boy, _very_ good boy. I shall reward you for that, later, but for now I am afraid you shall have to wait for your reward. Paws, Sebastian."

Moran realises somewhat groggily that the Professor is asking for his hands, and lifts them up, as a dog might to beg. "No, _behind_ your back. I am going to manacle you and shackle you, and put you into your cage like a good, obedient boy, and let you calm down. You may _not_ attempt to touch yourself, or rub yourself against your thigh, or relieve yourself in any way, it that clear? If I see so much as a spot of fluid smeared between your legs, I shall punish you, and not in any manner that you would enjoy."

Then, after locking the heavy iron manacles around Sebastian's wrists, and similar shackles around his ankles, with a hand to the nape of the restrained man's neck, Moriarty urges Sebastian into the cage, closing the door with a clang and locking it securely.

Sebastian groans in frustrated misery, his cock hugely swollen and erect, jutting up angrily between his spread thighs. He watches the Professor carefully from between the bars, excited despite his frustration, but also extremely apprehensive. Not so much of pain, as he knows that the Professor will inflict that upon him and that they will both, ultimately, derive satisfaction from it. No, his fear is more of being left, shackled, and on his knees in the cage, whilst the Professor leaves him alone.

As if sensing his fear, the Professor shushes him quietly with his tongue, turning to stoke up the fire in the grate so that Sebastian will not, at any rate, be left cold.

When he returns to the cage, the Professor lays three implements on the floor before it: a riding crop, a bamboo cane, and a leather tawse. "I shall leave you only for the briefest of times, my dove, so do not be afraid. I shall not leave the house and I shall be back very shortly. Now, whilst I am upstairs, I should like you to consider which of these three implements you would like me to use first on your backside when I return. And, if I find any evidence of your attempting to relieve yourself in my absence, you shall not find the experience pleasurable in the slightest."


	4. Chapter 4

As the Professor closes the playroom door, Sebastian struggles for a few moments with his bonds. He knows, of course, that such action is futile, as the Professor is far too meticulous to not have ensured that his marksman is properly secured, but the biting insistence of the cold, heavy metal encircling his neck, wrists, and ankles as he tests the restraints is somehow rather comforting. He is restrained, and he shall continue to be restrained, until his Master deems otherwise.

Sebastian's attention then turns to his cock, still turgid and throbbing between his legs. He dare not move in any way which might appear as if he were trying to relieve himself, for fear of the Professor's punishment. Instead he sits still, and contemplates the three implements laid out before him. Of the three, the one he dislikes, the one he _fears_ the most, is the cane. In his experience, it is by far the most painful of the three, and he has witnessed too many judicial canings back in India not to know exactly how much physical damage can be inflicted upon a person using this instrument of correction.

Between the tawse and the crop, he is not so concerned. Both can be used to inflict anything from a quite pleasurable, if intense, sting of discomfort, to a prolonged, extremely painful thrashing. The bite of the crop is sharper than that of the tawse, which has a heavier, more _thudding_ feel to it, but otherwise Sebastian has no particular preference for either. He will ask the Professor to use either the crop or the tawse, begging him not to use the cane if necessary, when he returns. 

As if sensing that his chief of staff's deliberations have been completed, the door to the playroom opens and Moriarty returns. He stands before the cage, staring down at his shackled lover, before reaching through the bars to ruffle Sebastian's hair and caress his cheek. 

"Ah, my dear Sebastian, my fearsome, dangerous _tiger_ , how very enticing you look, chained in your cage, waiting for your Master. What shall I do with you first, chick, hmmmm? Shall I use one of my toys on your firm, pale, backside, make you howl and struggle as I beat your rump rosy and red? Or shall I simply eschew the hors d'oeuvre and proceed straight to the entrée, by sampling your warm, tight, _delectable_ arse? Either shall prove quite delicious, I am sure. What do you think, Sebastian? What shall I do to you?"

Sebastian feels his cock begin to twitch again at the Professor's words. How much rather he should like to be taken by his lover, filled with his warmth and his issue, rather than beaten. But his Master's wishes are most important, and he will abide by his decision. "Whatever you want, Sir. Please do with me as you wish."

"And so I shall, Sebastian. And so I shall. Come, out of your cage."

Moriarty unlocks the heavy door of the cage and allows Sebastian to shuffle out, his movements constricted and made ungainly by the shackles. The Professor unlocks the manacles and leg irons, but leaves the heavy collar in place. "On the bed, chick. Face down, if you please."

Sebastian takes his position readily, and Moriarty quickly cuffs him and spreads his arms above his head so that his wrists are secured to the bedposts. His ankles receive similar treatment and, after the Professor has made a few adjustments to his restraints, Sebastian is left tied down, stretched out and spread-eagled on the counterpane. The Professor completes his ministrations by securing a length of thick chain to the collar and laying it along Sebastian's back, pulling it taut so that the end of the chain hangs between Sebastian's spread buttocks and on to the back of his testicles, eliciting a shiver from the bound man, at the coldness and weight of the heavy links. 

When the Professor lies down on the bed beside his lover, Sebastian realises that he has quickly stripped, and is now as naked as the man tied down beside him. He moans hoarsely as the Professor's fingers run up and down the crease between his spread buttocks, tickling at the few light brown and auburn hairs curling around his tight, pink anus, and tracing the outline of the little ridged opening. Despite his arousal, Sebastian's buttocks tighten reflexively, his body clamping down and attempting to squeeze his arse shut against the Professor's skillful exploration.

Moriarty exhales loudly in surprise, and brings his open palm down hard on Sebastian's backside. "No, that shall not do, tiger. That shall not do at all. You do not close your body to me, _ever_ , my dove. For that I shall have to punish you."

The bed springs recoil as the Professor climbs off to retrieve one of the implements beside the cage. "You will know your place, my love."

At this, Sebastian shivers again, as he waits to discover which of the implements the Professor has chosen for his punishment.


	5. Chapter 5

When Moriarty returns to the bed, Sebastian is still shivering slightly, despite the warmth emanating from the roaring fire. Moriarty sets some items down on the counterpane, outside of Sebastian's field of vision, and strokes his buttocks, rubbing the pad of his thumb again across Sebastian's anus, before slapping him hard, then moving to stand at the foot of the bed, where Sebastian cannot see him. 

There is a faint whooshing sound, and then a crack! and Sebastian cries out in pain and surprise as the crop hits him hard on the right buttock, leaving a long red stripe in its wake on the firm, pale flesh. The Professor hits him ten times, hard, in quick succession, until Sebastian's buttocks are criss-crossed with livid, swelling weals. Sebastian tries to calm himself, to hold himself together by clamping his lips tightly and breathing harshly through his nose. Why did he discount the crop so blithely? Used in this way, hard and fast, the lashes coming down and cutting across weals already forming, it is difficult not to cry out repeatedly in pain.

"Hmmmm." Moriarty grunts to himself, moving round to stand on Sebastian's left, before bringing the crop down for another ten strokes, this time on the backs of his thighs and the sensitive crease where his thighs meet his buttocks. He repeats the strokes whilst standing to Sebastian's right, only stopping as the restrained man is beginning to writhe and whimper and groan, unable to remain silent any longer.

He moans even louder when the Professor grasps his buttocks, squeezing and twisting the sore flesh, before running his hands roughly down Sebastian's thighs. With another savage twist of Moran's buttocks, Moriarty moves away to retrieve one of the thick down-filled bolsters at the head of the bed, releasing Sebastian's wrist restraints as he does so. 

"Push yourself up, Moran. Cant your arse upwards - yes, just so - as I slide the bolster beneath your hips."

Sebastian obeys, letting Moriarty arrange him so that he is lying with his backside tilted up, his legs still restrained, wide apart, supporting his upper body on his palms and forearms, folded beside his chest. Without warning, the Professor twists his fingers into Sebastian's hair, pulling his head upwards viciously and painfully, twisting so that he can claim his marksman's mouth in a punishing kiss.

There is nothing tender in the way Moriarty uses him; the kiss is not one of passion, but one of control, of dominance. Moriarty's tongue forces its way deep into Sebastian's throat, his teeth cutting painfully into his lips, holding his mouth open so that he is unable to resist the onslaught. Moriarty's other hand comes up to squeeze at his neck, whilst the one in his hair suddenly moves down to pinch at his nose. Sebastian is held, throat constricted, nasal airway sealed, his mouth filled, and he writhes in Moriarty's grasp as he struggles for breath.

The Professor does not release him until the edge of his consciousness is darkening, and even then only with a harsh bite to his bottom lip, leaving his mouth flooded with the metallic tang of coppery blood.

Moriarty kneels beside him, his arousal obvious in the swollen penis jutting up between his thighs. For all that Sebastian knows that he is valued by his Master, for his marksmanship and his willingness to submit to Moriarty's sexual wishes, he knows too that his Master is a sadist and - what did Holmes term him? A man of acute narcissism, a man with a complete lack of empathy, and a pronounced inclination toward _moral insanity_.

But then, he, Moran, is a gun for hire. A killer, a murderer. A man who murders for money. He does not consider that he is in any position to judge his Master. No, his Master's casual sadism, his _violence_ , has from the beginning of their association been a large part of what excites Sebastian. He is excited now, despite his pain, and that of course does not escape Moriarty's notice.

Recovering himself, brushing his hair back where it has fallen foward on to his forehead, and wiping away the smear of blood on his lips, the Professor again twists his fingers into the hair at the nape of Sebastian's neck.

"I see that I am not the only one enjoying this. Very well, tiger, you shall hold your buttocks open for me, displaying your arsehole like the desperate, swollen-pricked, little bitch you are. And, whilst you display yourself to me, I shall whip your hole and the sensitive flesh between your arse cheeks, and all the while you will beg me for more, and beg me to fuck you. You will beg me to whip you harder, to hurt you, and to fill you up with my prick. And, as I said, the whole time, whether being whipped or fucked, you will hold your arse open for me. Do you understand me, Sebastian?"

"Yes, Sir, God! Yes, I understand, Sir. Please, Sir, please!"

"Very well, then, _slave_. Hold yourself open for your Master."


	6. Chapter 6

Sebastian grasps the firm flesh of his buttocks, hissing as his fingers dig into the painful, reddened, skin, and holds himself open. The Professor's gasp of pleasure as his lover exposes himself so lewdly is loud in the quiet room, the crackling of the fire the only other sound. Moriarty trails the crop's leather keeper between Sebastian's spread cheeks, tickling gently at his pink, puckered opening, before stroking it down over his perineum to the base of his testicles.

"Yes, my dove? You spread yourself open so deliciously. You have something to ask me?"

Sebastian moans, quietly, deep in his throat. This is too arousing, too erotic, laid out in this way before his lover, his _Master_ , splayed out more wantonly than he could ever have been with any other lover, about to beg to be hurt and then fucked. To be filled up, _used_ , a vessel to bring his Master pleasure, whilst all the while he will writhe in that strange, _secret_ place, where pain becomes ecstasy, where debasement and humiliation become consummation, and his Master will understand and will hold his pain and his submission, tightly, _tightly_ to himself, cherishing it for what it is, and their deep, twisted, _perfect_ bond will crystallise further, and achieve that clarity, that _transcendence_ which only souls so bound together can attain.

"Please, Sir. Hurt me. Mark me. Get me ready to be used, to be _fucked_. Please, Sir. Make me cry out and beg. _Please_ , Sir."

The Professor begins gently, slapping only lightly with the leather tongue along the deep crease between Sebastian's buttocks, pausing every so often to stroke teasingly, before suddenly bringing the crop down hard on his perineum. Sebastian howls in pain, forgetting that he is supposed to be holding himself open for this punishment, and releases his grip on his buttocks.

" _Moran!_ " The Professor's reaction is swift, a sharp slap of the crop hard across each of Sebastian's hands, eliciting another cry of pain from his bound sniper.

"Sir! I am _sorry_ , Sir. I forgot myself."

"Then do _not_ forget yourself, sirrah. Hold yourself open, damn you."

Obediently, Sebastian complies, and the Professor begins the thrashing in earnest. Up and down the crease between Sebastian's buttocks, slapping hard as his hole clenches in pain, every so often landing a glancing blow on his perineum or the back of his testicles, Sebastian panting and whimpering in pain, trying not to flinch away or release his grip on his buttocks as he is beaten.

Only when Sebastian is snuffling quietly into the counterpane, smothering his sobs of pain and humiliation as best he can, does Moriarty cease the relentless beating. "My dove, you may release your grip now."

The Professor moves quickly to the foot of the bed and unfastens the straps restraining Sebastian's ankles. He takes Sebastian in his arms, holding him tight against his chest. 

"Sebastian, my sweet, obedient, boy. I _shall_ have you, now, but not in quite the way I anticipated. You shall sit here, on my lap, and ride me, and I shall savour your sweet mouth and your moans and whimpers as you ride my cock, and I _fill_ you up, my love, and _fill_ you again, with my issue. It will _hurt_ , chick; your backside is quite, quite, red, and swollen now, following my ministrations, but I shall not deny you the means to prepare yourself."

Moriarty retrieves a small vial from the counterpane, and hands it to Sebastian. "Prepare yourself, tiger. Open yourself up with your fingers. I want to see you stretch your sore, swollen, hole, and get it ready for me."


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian takes the vial and unstoppers it, coating his fingers with the viscous oil contained within. He hesitates, unsure how the Professor wants him to proceed. "On your hands and knees, chick. Chest down, backside up. Reach between your legs and finger yourself. Moan for me, my dove; show me how much you want me to take you."

Sebastian does as instructed, turning himself around so that he is facing away from the Professor, kneeling with his chest and face pressed to the counterpane, and spreading his legs. He reaches up between his splayed thighs, and rolls his balls in his fingers, coating them in oil so that they glisten and drip as they hang heavily between his legs. He pours more oil on to his hand and reaches up further, circling his red and swollen hole lightly, _teasingly_ , as he moans softly. Moriarty's audible sudden intake of breath would suggest that his actions are having the desired effect. 

Moran continues to caress his arsehole and his perineum, beginning to push just the tip of his middle finger inside himself, adding yet more oil so that the penetration is accompanied by wet, slick, squelches, which sound obscenely loud and filthily lewd in the quiet room.

"Oh, yes, Colonel. Open yourself up for me. I want to see you stretching yourself open. Don't be coy - _fuck_ yourself on your fingers. Good. Good boy."

The Professor's crisp and cultured diction lends a frisson of additional salaciousness to the crude language, and Moran's cock strains against his thigh as he pushes two fingers into himself to the knuckle. He groans again, low and deep in his throat, as they glancingly brush that sweet spot inside, wanting now nothing more than to be stretched out and filled up with _cock_. The Professor's cock.

As he adds a third finger, twisting them in and out of himself in time with his whimpers and grunts of arousal, he feels the Professor taking his balls in hand, holding them steady, as if assessing their weight, before rolling them and squeezing them in his fingers.

"Turn over, Sebastian. On your back, legs as wide apart as you can, and continue to finger yourself for me."

He obeys, legs splayed wide open, twisting slightly so that he can reach around to fuck himself on his fingers, maintaining eye contact with the Professor, and slicking his lips suggestively with the tip of his tongue. He feels wanton; he feels voluptuous; he wants to be spread out and ridden like a whore; he wants to be made to impale himself and ride his Master's cock. He wants to be made to scream and beg. Sebastian brings his legs up to the sides of his chest, spreading his thighs even more and exposing himself in carnal invitation.

"Sir, fuck me, please. Take me, Sir. Stretch me, _please_ , Sir. Fill me up and make me your whore."

Moriarty smiles, his face lit with atavistic appetite. "Oh, pet. And so I shall. You shall ride my cock and moan like the the bitch you are, until I fill you up with my seed. So, crawl here to me and prepare me with your mouth. Like that, oh _yes_ , _good_ boy."


	8. Chapter 8

Sebastian knows, of course, when his appetites turned away irrevocably from the fair sex and became forever focussed on the male. When he first began to feel himself harden at the thought of a thick, hard, penis filling his mouth, rather than lapping at a woman's delicate, fragranced, _chose_. When having a pair of heavy testicles slapping against his chin, his nose buried in thick, curling pubic hair, filled with the scent of male rut and the faintest hint of male sweat and cologne, made him want to curl up and spill copiously into his hand. Until then, he found both sexes attractive, and enjoyed an enormous amount of sexual experience with each of them. 

But his world changed forever, his universe teetered and spun from its axis, the moment he met Professor James Moriarty. Ever since that day, when he first glimpsed his future employer's auburn hair and ice cold, brilliant, blue eyes, he has been in thrall to the man. Sebastian cannot, now, imagine wanting another. He wants to belong to the Professor. He wants to be owned. He wants to be totally and utterly James', and his alone. 

And so it is with a deep moan of pleasure that he takes the Professor's cock into his mouth, making love to it, suckling at the sensitive head, swirling his tongue over it and pulling at it with his lips, probing gently at the slit. 

"Yes, my dove, oh _yes_." Moriarty's hands are in his hair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed in pleasure as he gasps whilst Moran moves further down his prick, swallowing its length until the head is pressing at the back of his throat. It is with a visible effort that Moriarty pushes him away, rasping out a hoarse, "Bed - now. On your back, arms above your head, legs up and thighs spread."

Sebastian shuffles quickly back to the bed and arranges himself as instructed, as the Professor turns down the gas lamps slightly, giving the room a shadowy, more intimate, aspect. "I am going to take you, my sweet, obedient boy, but first, I want to play with you. Lie still, now, chick. You are to try to hold yourself still for me, no matter what I do to you. Do you understand?"

Sebastian's cock twitches with anticipation as he gazes up at his lover, his eyes shaded in the shadowed light as he whispers, "Yes, Sir."

Moriarty moves between his splayed legs, and leans over him, allowing his beard and moustache to tickle at Sebastian's chest as he blows gently over his nipples. Feeling Moriarty's erect prick pressing against his, and starting slightly at the warm breath over the sensitive nubs, Sebastian's own breath hitches. He moans softly in the back of his throat as his Master laps delicately at one, and then the other, his nipples pebbling into hard points as he struggles not to move.

He is unbearably aroused, and longs to be taken by the Professor, laid out in such open invitation. "Please, Sir."

"No, not yet, chick. Patience."

Moriarty moves away, retrieving something from beside the fireplace. Sebastian's eyes widen as he sees that the Professor has a julleuchter in his hand, the candle lit and burning brightly. Removing the candle from its holder, and lifting it up high above Sebastian's chest, Moriarty allows the molten wax to trickle down, splashing in small white spots around his nipples. Sebastian hisses as the first hot drops hit him, arching up into the sensation, earning himself a smart slap to his cock as the Professor whispers, "No, be still, my dove."

The wax droplets form a ring around Sebastian's nipple, and Moriarty then moves to the other, surrounding it and then allowing the wax to drip down on to the sensitive nub, coating it in a rapidly hardening white crust. Sebastian can no longer keep still, and writhes on the bed, moaning raggedly and whimpering as his nipples are thoroughly coated with wax.

When the Professor moves lower, trickling the wax down over his stomach, pausing to allow it to pool in his belly button, Sebastian groans even more loudly, arching up as if to embrace the hot trail, whimpering in anticipation as it nears his groin. But Moriarty avoids that, for now, pushing Sebastian's legs even further back, tilting up his arse and allowing a few drops to fall on the exposed, pink pucker. Sebastian hisses and pants, his hole clenching as he processes the scalding pain.

"I could fuck you with this, whilst it is still hot and malleable," the Professor muses. "Then we should have a perfect impression of the inside of your arse, Colonel. Would that not be a singularly fascinating and unique talking point for a dinner party?"

Sebastian can only groan in response, as the Professor's hand moves up to hover over his vulnerable crotch. "Or perhaps a wax cast of your impressive manhood, chick? Then I should be able to sodomise you with your own cock, Colonel. Would that not be an intriguing sensation? Come, shall we experiment?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the old word, _chose_ , for vagina. Pepys refers to it in his Diary: "When I came home I found my wife not very well of her old pain in the lip of her chose which she had when we were married first." Pepys' wife, Elizabeth, was probably suffering from a condition well known to modern doctors but untreatable then, in which the glands at the entrance to the vagina become blocked and a cyst is formed.
> 
> A julleuchter, or Yule lantern, is a small earthenware candlestick, about 4" square at the bottom, about 8" tall, and shaped rather like a mountain or a tower. I imagine that Moriarty would have acquired one during his travels in Europe, especially when visiting Meinhard's weapons factory at Heilbronn.


	9. Chapter 9

Sebastian can only hiss in response; his anus is smarting with the aftermath of the scalding wax, and he has no doubt that the Professor will similarly sear his cock. His head tips back and he exhales harshly as the first molten droplet hits the base of his prick. Moriarty concentrates on the base and on his testicles, apparently delighting in letting the wax drip into the soft auburn hair there. 

"I shall relish making you clean the wax away from here once we are finished, chick. Perhaps I should make you pluck the hairs out with tweezers to remove the droplets? Or shall I perform the task for you? Would you like me to restrain and gag you whilst I do so, my dove?"

The thought of having the hair on his balls removed by tweezer makes Sebastian want to cross his legs and squeeze them together tightly, but the Professor, kneeling between his thighs, prevents him. Instead he moans and writhes as the hot droplets begin to fall further up his shaft, grinding his arse against the coverlet as his cock jerks and bounces. Sebastian has never felt so totally exposed, so unrestrained, and so utterly submissive before another person before.

"My dear Colonel, you look quite wanton, spread open and writhing so provocatively; you appear quite debauched, begging wordlessly to be taken and filled up like the desperate little slut you are. Is that what you want, sirrah? To be stretched out and used? Speak up, Colonel."

As the wax continues to trickle, Moran gasps, hoarsely. "Yes. Please, Sir. Use me, please. Take me."

Moriarty bends over him, his eyes glinting with arousal and, also - cruelty - the hand holding the candle low over Sebastian's groin, the hot, molten end of the candle precipitously close to its head, poised over the vulnerable, leaking, slit.

"And how should I use you? How should I take you, hmmmm, my dove? Tell me."

Squirming, his eyes fixed on the flickering flame, Sebastian whimpers. "Like a whore, Sir. Like a slut. Mount me and fill me, fuck me like a whore. Like _your_ whore, Sir, please." 

"Good boy. Very good." Moriarty takes the candle away and snuffs it out. Sebastian swallows in relief, but it is short-lived. "So very good, in fact, that you deserve something special. I shall allow you to take control, my dove. You shall straddle me, and I shall watch you pleasuring yourself on my prick as you ride it."

Ah. A double-edged sword then, the Professor's reward, for as much as Sebastian shall, without doubt, receive a great deal of pleasure from impaling himself on his Master's cock and riding him (and himself) to orgasm, he will also be so very _exposed_ , twisting and panting and climaxing under the Professor's scrutiny. It excites him and simultaneously frightens him, yet he cannot refuse. As Moriarty makes himself comfortable beside him on the bed, Sebastian sits up on his heels, ready to straddle his lover and let him fill him as he lowers himself on to his stiff, swollen, erection.


End file.
